13. Carson
Carson
When I poured every cent I had into buying the dental practice and a few new upgraded machines that I got on a miracle loan, I didn’t anticipate how much more money I’d need to put in to bringing everything up to scratch.
Paint isn’t cheap. Neither are door rugs that aren’t forty years old, or new flooring that doesn’t smell like burned popcorn.
Add to that a good office chair for Barb, my secretary, and lumber for the tree house, and books and toys to fill it with.
I add the finishing touches to the bird perched on a branch on the wall and hop down from the ladder, standing back to take everything in.
I’m no artist, but I think it turned out pretty great.
Okay, so I’m a hobby artist. I doodle.
White clouds dot the blue sky around the tree and branches spread out covered in green leaves, which don’t look half bad. I’m lucky Mom had the afternoon free and was able to pick up Penny from school to give me enough time to finish this. It’s officially ready for kids.
One kid in particular, of course.
It takes another half hour to clean everything up and power down the new computer at the front desk.
Barb is going to appreciate the update, I’m sure.
Hopefully it makes up for me putting an end to her two-week vacation while I got the office ready for patients.
The entire office staff came in this morning for a quick meeting, which became tricky when I realized I didn’t have any chairs in the waiting room, so we sat in exam chairs and went over expectations for the soft launch tomorrow.
I can’t do anything more for it, but as I stand in the quiet, empty waiting room, overwhelming inadequacy runs through me, making my shoulders heavy.
Why did I think I’d be able to do this? In what world was buying an office I’ll be paying off for the next fifteen years—twenty if I don’t want to live at my mom’s house forever—the right fix for my situation?
I scrub a hand down my face and sigh before carrying the rest of my tools and painting supplies to the storage closet.
The drive home is picturesque, the changing leaves on the trees making them look fiery and vibrant against the rolling green hills.
Tennessee really showed up for fall, too, and the sheer number of trees here makes me miss the state I called home for the last nine years.
It was lush and green and beautiful in its own way.
But with all the good memories surrounding Tennessee, there are twice as many difficult ones.
It’s like my thoughts surrounding the place I lived for the last decade are all showing with a grainy filter, changing the vibe of my memories.
Emma is outside when I pull into my driveway.
She’s leaning over a chair and doesn’t seem to notice me, but I can’t help looking at her killer legs in long, black leggings.
Her hair is thrown into a small messy bun with loose hair falling out around her neck and temples.
She pushes her glasses up her nose and focuses on the back of the chair she’s screwing into place.
Even from here, I can tell that the chairs look so much better.
I climb out of my car and close the door, sliding my hands into my pockets as I move toward the road. My feet stop before hitting the pavement at the sound of the front door opening behind me. Mom steps outside and closes the door behind her, and the look on her brow makes my body go cold.
“Is it Penny?” I ask, abandoning the thought of checking on the chairs.
“We need to talk out here,” Mom says softly. “Penny’s in her room. She loves that new hammock chair you hung up. It’s hard to get her out of it.”
As much as I’m glad to have provided her with a safe haven, I don’t like that Mom seems to think she needs it right now. “What happened?”
“Jen sent her a package, so I let her open it. I didn’t even think about waiting for you.”
“Of course.” Trepidation builds in my shoulders, making them tense. “It’s her mom.”
“Well,” Mom laughs, an awkward, empty sound, and tucks some of her faded blonde hair behind her ear.
It’s long, trailing over her shoulder, and despite the lines fanning from her eyes and mouth, she looks so much like Maven.
Penny is a tiny version of them both, and I wonder if she’ll look like this when she’s grown. “Jen sent her a phone.”
My thoughts skitter to a halt. “She what?”
“A phone. Pen opened it up, and it works. The only number saved in it was her mom’s, so she’s been calling her since we got home. Jen hasn’t answered yet.”
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, counting backward from ten until my anger is under control. “She has no right. Literally, Mom. She signed all those rights away, then handed me Penny and disappeared. I just can’t…I don’t understand. How is she even paying for this?”
“Alimony,” Mom says acidly. “You’re certainly giving her enough.”
“Only for three years,” I remind her. “It doesn’t give her a right—”
Nope. I can’t trash talk the mother of my child like this. It’s a conversation that needs to happen between Jen and me.
Mom puts her hands on my shoulders and squeezes lightly, her hazel-green eyes boring into me.
She is so level-headed and wise. I’m waiting for the advice that’s going to fix everything, but all she does is shake her head slightly.
“You’re a good man, Carson, and a good dad.
It’s hard navigating single parenting, but you are doing a fantastic job. ”
Emotion rises in my throat. This, from the best single parent on the planet. It means more to me than she can know, even if I question the truth of it. She is my mom, so she’s pretty biased.
“What would you do?” I ask.
She squeezes once more before releasing my shoulders. “I don’t know. This isn’t really something I had to deal with. Your dad just split, and it was a different world then. Maybe things would have been better if communication was as easy as it is now.”
She talks like I was a medieval kid relying on carrier pigeons, but phones were still a thing when I was growing up. Most kids even had them by the time I was in high school.
“I’m going to call her.”
“Okay.” Mom nods. “I’ll check on Penny.”
“Thanks.”
She leaves, and I wait until the door closes before calling Jen. It rings until it goes to her voicemail, so I close my eyes and breathe through my nose.
Beep.
“Hey Jen, it’s Carson. Just wanted to talk. If you could give me a call, that would be great. Thanks. Bye.”
I hang up and turn my volume up loud so I don’t miss her call whenever she deigns to respond. Then my eyes immediately track Emma. I need to check on the chairs. This is business. Purely business.
Me wanting to cross the road has nothing to do with needing a distraction or how much I enjoy chatting with her or how cute she looks in an oversized UVM crew neck and messy hair. Her glasses slide down her nose while she concentrates on the bottom of the chair she’s working on.
“These look amazing,” I say, admiring the finished chairs all lined up on one side of the driveway. Her Corolla is parked in the street to make room for the project, and she looks nearly finished.
Emma wipes at her forehead with her wrist. “They’re pretty much done. Just need to reconnect the last few cushions.”
“Is the color…”
“Yeah, the wood is different.” She pulls a face. “I sanded the frames down and stained them. I had some leftover from a different project and they kind of needed a refresh.”
“This is too much.”
Her eyes cut to me. “The stain didn’t cost me anything. It was in my shed.”
“It’s the time, Emma. It’s too much.”
Her cheeks glow pink, giving color to her skin and making her eyes bright. “You don’t have to pay me back by working the same amount of time. I know how busy you are, and I don’t have high expectations.”
Immediately I regret my reaction. She’s completely taken it the wrong way. “Of course I’m going to help you.”
“Well, I didn’t say you wouldn’t.” Her smile peeks through her embarrassment, and it’s a warm ray of sunshine. “Only that you don’t have to work hour for hour.”
My gaze is caught on those lips, and not because I can recall what it felt like to kiss them or how soft and pliable they are. A zing went through my chest when she touched me, proving our chemistry is a real, intangible thing that can’t be wholly ignored.
“Anyway, they should probably dry overnight. Can you get Bennett’s truck again in the morning, and I can help you load them up? One might fit in my car—”
“Yeah, I’m sure I can.”
“They’re pretty much dry, but another night will help.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Great.” Emma gives a cute little nod and gets back to work, turning a frame over to access the underside so she can screw the cushion in place.
Logically, I recognize I was dismissed and it’s time to leave. Illogically, my feet won’t move. “How’s my money jar doing at the library?”
She drills a screw into place, then positions one on the other side. “Honestly, it’s hard to tell. I think it’s going to be close this year.”
“Perfect.”
Emma laughs, and the sound of the drill doesn’t even drown it out. “You know, I still have those books set aside for Penny.”
“She’s been reminding me daily.” I rub a hand over my face. “I came back to Vermont because I thought it would make things easier. When will my life slow down?”
She puts the drill down and looks up at me, straightening.
Apparently, I didn’t sound as nonchalant as I meant to.
When her brown eyes rake over my face like she’s trying to read me, I almost can’t take it anymore.
I want to collapse, let my arms rest from trying to hold up so many things all the dang time.
Emma must have a sense for what I’m feeling, because she wipes her hands down her leggings, a soft furrow between her eyebrows I want to smooth out. “You okay?”
“No.” The word is out before I even consider the implications of being so honest. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Sorry. I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me comfortable, and I always say more than I should.”